


All I Wanted

by Zenkindoflove



Series: A Better Ending [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fix-It, Fluff and Smut, Season/Series 08
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-24 13:42:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19174456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zenkindoflove/pseuds/Zenkindoflove
Summary: Season 8 Episode 4 Fix-it Fic. Sansa watches Sandor from afar. They both survived certain death and now, anything can happen.





	All I Wanted

**Author's Note:**

> Long time SanSan fan but this is my first published fic for them. I've been thinking about their scene together and how much better they deserve for endings. This is ultimately what came of it. I haven't published fanfiction in several years, so I'm a bit rusty. This fic is primarily show canon though as you will see, some book canon has been peppered in.

She swirled the wine in her silver goblet, the aroma wafting over her as she watched everyone else succumb to the jovial, drunken feast. She never drank to intoxication. Although sometimes she wished to dull her thoughts, the lack of control frightened her. Cersei would often swirl and smell her wine before drinking, and Sansa found herself mimicking the motion even after all these years of distance.

She watched Brienne from the high table. She was partaking in some kind of game with the Lannister brothers that Sansa tried to decipher from afar. The Dragon Queen had left, and Jon soon followed. Most knew not to engage with her too much. Tonight was meant to let loose with close friends, celebrating in the profound and unlikely outcome of still being alive. But Sansa didn’t have any friends. Her family had all scattered, engaging in their own self-contained dramas. She decided instead to watch her sworn shield for a while. She had a sense that Brienne’s feelings for Jaime Lannister were more than strictly knightly honor and respect. The way Brienne glowed under his gaze, and laughed in a way that Sansa could only describe as feminine, confirmed her suspicions. Sansa’s former husband Tyrion, however, knocked the smile from Brienne’s face. Sansa’s stomach turned as she watched Brienne’s joy crumble into embarrassment. The tension built as Tormund approached, clearly not reading the situation appropriately. When Brienne stormed off, Sansa held her breath as Jaime and Tormund stared each other down, battling silently of who had the right to go after her. She exhaled as Jaime Lannister turned on his heel and Tormund’s shoulders slumped. She wasn’t sure how she felt about the outcome. To her, no Lannister was ever worthy of a Stark man – or woman. But she knew Brienne likely wished for this result.

An ache in her chest swelled and she closed her eyes, breathing in deeply as she numbed the nagging feeling. That had been happening more and more recently. It appeared anytime Jon couldn’t tear his eyes from Daenerys. She knew the moment she saw them together that Jon was deeply in love with his new queen. The feeling snarled ugly and savage when Arya admitted to her about her night with Gendry. It was the afternoon following the defeat of the Night King. They all were exhausted, and Sansa sensed Arya didn’t want to be alone for a change. They laid under the furs of her bed, and Arya confessed how she had seduced Gendry Waters – now Baratheon. Sansa didn’t say much, only let her sister describe the night to her as she held back hot tears. Arya didn’t seem to notice her anguish. Sansa had, after all, become quite good at steeling her features.

 _It’s not fair._ Those words repeated over and over, a chant that fueled the ache. Everyone around her was falling in love or at least finding pleasure with another. The possibility felt so far away from her, and she wouldn’t even know where to start if the opportunity ever presented itself. How could she ever trust anyone with her body when it had been so brutalized? Sansa thought after Joffrey’s humiliation, Littlefinger’s possession, and Ramsey’s torture that she knew love was just a song for summer. She knew of winter’s cold and lonely abandonment, and nothing could close her eyes again. Yet, as those around her continued with love despite it all, Sansa’s heart still yearned, stabbing her from within to remind her of that little girl who believed in all the songs, waiting for her Florian. Even Ramsey couldn’t carve her out completely, and Sansa raged for her. How could both sides of her exist and feel content? How could she watch her family move on with love, leaving her all alone? How could she still foolishly desire when all evidence pointed to danger and pain? Why did everyone else manage unscathed? _Why me?_

The duality split her open and she struggled to hold herself together each time. One day she’ll break completely, and she didn’t know where she’d end up.

The sour bite of the wine slashed her thoughts, and she scanned the room again. She found Tormund next to _him_ – Sandor Clegane.

She didn’t know he was in Winterfell right away. It wasn’t until a private family dinner when Arya demanded from Jon to tell her where he had found the Hound. Sansa choked on her wine, her brain screaming as she coughed. Jon seemed surprised by both of his sisters’ reactions and assumed it was because the Hound was a former Lannister man. He thought they feared and hated him, but Bran had spoken, explaining in his own cryptic way that Sandor Clegane had always been a friend of House Stark.

_“It pained you to leave him for dead, but had you given him what he wanted, none of what is to happen will,” his eyes were black and lost as he spoke to Arya. He continued as he turned to Sansa, “And if you had gone with him that night, you would have stayed a little bird all your life.”_

She went to bed that night returning to an old fantasy she hadn’t dared to dream since she was told the Hound was dead. His scarred face, shadowed by candlelight, hovered above her as he held her arms in his large hands. His features, smoothed with disappointment as he began to back away from her, certain she wouldn’t go. In her dreams she launched forward, grabbing at his armor and shouting that she changed her mind. It wasn’t safe. She dropped her father’s doll and he pulled her through the halls of the castle, the green flames of Blackwater Bay blinding them through the windows. But Bran said that was never supposed to be her path. She ground her teeth, thinking of his meaning. She needed to go through more pain and imprisonment to finally be free and take back Winterfell herself. She let go of the guilt that she made the wrong choice that night, but her resentment festered once again.

 She only caught glimpses of him up until today. He managed to always be somewhere she wasn’t. Part of her was grateful each time she entered the Great Hall and he wasn't there. She wasn’t sure what to say to him after all these years. Would he be proud of her? Would he hate her for not leaving with him? Or worse, would he not think anything of her at all? Their time together felt like another lifetime and reality and fantasy had bled together in her memories. While lying in her bed in the Eyrie, she would let her fantasy continue, imagining stolen glances over campfire and his lips tasting hers. He had been the only person to show her anything genuine, even if most of it was rage and harsh lessons. His words that night had been genuine too, _“No Little Bird, I won’t hurt you.”_ Now she was a woman grown, and it was as if her girlish fantasies had come back to haunt her, invisible and hiding in the walls of Winterfell. In the present reality, she wasn’t sure what they were to each other anymore.

Sandor had continued drinking as Tormund cried over his shoulder.  Sansa watched with interest as the wildling reached out to him only to be met with a deadpanned rejection. Sansa's gaze followed Tormund’s attention which was pulled to two women standing next to them. Her spine tingled with panic and watched carefully as Tormund spoke with one of the women. Sandor didn’t turn to look at them, and for a moment, Sansa was relieved when Tormund stood and walked away with one of them. But her stomach dropped to her feet as the other woman stayed behind, giving Sandor a coy look as she sat down next to him.

Dread seeped down her shoulders, filling the empty pit inside of her. She could feel herself breaking open as she watched the scene unfold before her. How could she just stand there and watch him – of all people – leave with someone else? And yet she did, frozen in her place. It was clear the woman wanted him. She leaned towards him, and even though Sansa could not hear, it was obvious what she was proposing. He hadn’t looked at her yet and reached for his pitcher to pour more wine in his goblet. The ache tore through Sansa as the woman grabbed his arm, her meaning obvious.

But Sandor did something shocking and yet utterly predictable. He snarled viciously at the woman, and she leaned back in fear, scurrying away from him before he could turn back to his wine. Relief warmed Sansa, and she released a breath she didn’t know she was holding. _He didn’t want her_. She thought. He was the same angry brute she knew in King’s Landing all those years ago. Suddenly, Sansa let go of her fear of speaking to him, finally seeing the man rather than the myth. With all the grace that was afforded to the Lady of Winterfell, Sansa sauntered over to his table.  

“She could have made you happy, for a little while.” She sat down across from him, avoiding his eyes coolly as she looked towards the woman now hanging off Podrick Payne’s other arm. Her words were bold, and she knew all would be revealed of what she was to Sandor Clegane.

He hadn’t responded right away. She could sense from the corner of her eye as he sat back, alarmed by her presence. He seemed lost for words, and then as she turned to look at him. He was looking down towards the table.

“There is only one thing that would make me happy,” his voice was gruff and deep. Her memory of it had been a perfect replica after all.

“And what’s that?”

“That’s my fucking business,” he barked. He looked up at her, his deep dark eyes meeting hers with his hair covering his scarred side. Sansa ordered herself not to look away and she held his gaze. Maybe this was it. She wasn’t much to Sandor Clegane after all. Just a woman who he used to know and annoy him. A woman who he offered to save once, but maybe he regretted it. Sansa tried her best to hold her composure as she held his stare. She felt like he could see every thought and insecurity with the intensity of his eyes. He waited, as if challenging her to look away, but she held on even as her knees weakened beneath her skirts.

“Used to be you couldn’t look at me,” his voice was softer this time, and his eyes began to examine her, trying to decipher what was different now.

“That was a long time ago. I’ve seen much worse than you since then,” she joked back to him. She didn’t sing courtesies anymore. Her habit now was to jape with sarcasm and sass. The courtesies saved her from small egos, but now she couldn’t show fear or submission. It was the only way to maintain what power she had harnessed.  

“Yes, I’ve heard. Heard you were broken in,” he leaned in forward. A challenge. “Heard you were broken in rough.”

Sansa internally flinched. He knew. She supposed it wasn’t a surprise. What she endured by Ramsey, her marriage, escape, and his ultimate execution had become a part of her whispered lore. However, no one had ever stated it so bluntly before. But that was Sandor Clegane. No matter how brutal, he never covered any truth with euphemism. He examined her, and Sansa imagined he was waiting to see the girl he recognized in King’s Landing.

“And he got what he deserved. I gave it to him,” she announced. This too she never spoke aloud. But if anyone was to understand, it was the man who told her the world was built by killers.

“How?”

“Hounds.” A small grin infiltrated her steely demeanor, and he let go, letting out a laugh. Sansa realized she had never heard him laugh before or seen him smile so freely. The unscarred side of his face relaxed and his features were quite handsome. A lightness swirled inside her and she couldn’t stop the smile that spread across her face.

“You’ve changed, Little Bird.” He said with mirth, and Sansa felt like she was floating. _Little Bird_. She didn’t realize how much she had yearned to hear that again.

The smile fell from her face as she considered his words further. _Changed_. Yes, she had changed from the inside out. Every piece of her had been altered, broken down, and built back up again. He could see now what she had become and yet, he called her Little Bird all the same.

She felt him studying her, sensing the shift in the mood. “None of it would have happened if you had left King’s Landing with me.” He began. Sansa stiffened. She didn’t think he would bring this up so soon. “No Littlefinger. No Ramsey. None of it.”

The tenderness shone through his eyes as his voice softened with his words. It was as if he reached inside her head and pulled the thoughts from her mind. In that moment, Sansa saw passed the fantasy and their future played out. They would have gone into hiding, for her family would still be murdered. Maybe they would have crossed the Narrow Sea and found somewhere in the Free Cities to hide. He would have kept her safe until the day came when she was tracked down and taken again. She knew now that the true person who would have never stopped until he had her all to himself was Littlefinger, not Cersei. She was his ultimate piece in the game. Maybe Sandor would have cut the men down like he had during the Bread Riots, buying them more time. Or maybe he would die trying, and she would be taken all the same. But Sansa could see that Sandor would have done anything to keep her from the horrors that happened. She understood his other meaning as well. Littlefinger. Ramsey. No man would have touched her with him there. He would have kept her innocent as long as she wanted. She would have waited for a while too, until one day when she saw him as she could see him now. Maybe it would have been as Arya described: awkward but tender. _Gods, it was a sweet path_. One that she knew she deserved. But the Gods were never fair. Instead, she fell into Littlefinger’s chaos and had to find a way to take control of it all for herself. There was no erasing what happened. No turning back.

She reached for his hand. It was warm and smoother than she expected. On impulse, her thumb ran across his knuckles, feeling the deep ridges of his bones. He didn’t pull away or snarl at her like he had with the other woman. Instead he froze, as if she had placed shackles on him. She felt his entire body tense as he looked down at their hands together. She repeated Bran’s words back to Sandor, letting go of the fantasy she held onto for so long.

“Without Littlefinger and Ramsey and all the rest, I would have stayed a Little Bird all my life,” she held his stare. He didn’t react at first. His dark eyes searched hers. It seemed he didn’t find whatever it was he was looking for, and Sansa felt the tension in his hand release. She licked her lips and let go.  She stood and contemplated her next words.

“Will you come with me? There is something I want to show you.”

He was taken aback by her offer. She waited patiently as his eyes darted back and forth contemplating. It was like he was her prey and she had pinned him in a corner with no where to escape. Sansa felt powerful standing above him seeing how unsure he was, but then he met her eyes again with that challenging stare. Her stomach did somersaults as he threw back his goblet, finishing his drink and then standing up next to her.

He towered over her. She was tall for a woman, but he made her feel small. He took a step towards her and she turned on her heel, leading the way out of the Great Hall.

He walked two steps behind her, as he did when he would return her to her chambers in King’s Landing. Sansa knew when she offered exactly what she wanted to show him. But as they walked in silence towards her chambers, she realized that once they crossed that threshold what else she would be inviting. Subconsciously, perhaps, that’s what she was leading to all along. The thought frightened and excited her all at once. She wasn’t sure exactly what she wanted, but this possibility now presented itself. She thought of his laughter again, his face serene and relaxed and how that openness made her feel. A warm rush flooded her cheeks as she thought of the warmness of his hand and where he may touch her when she asked. A small voice in the back of her skull screeched at her that this wasn’t safe. No man, not even Sandor Clegane could be trusted. She squashed that thought. _A dog will die for you and never lie to you._

As they reached the family wing, it took her a moment to realize Sandor’s steps had stopped. She turned around to look at him, and he eyed her warily.

“Is everything alright?” she asked.

His eyes narrowed towards her and he stepped forward until he stood next to her. He looked down at her, “Your chambers?”

She nodded, hoping that her cheeks didn’t color. “What I have to show you is in there.”

She walked further down the hallway, stopping in front of her door.

“What would people say if they hear that the Lady of Winterfell had the Hound in her chambers,” she could tell from his tone he was testing her again.

“Well, as you pointed out before, everyone knows there is little of my reputation remaining,” she directed her eyes at him, meeting his challenge. He looked down at his feet. Was that shame? There were all kinds of emotions she was seeing from Sandor Clegane tonight that she had never seen before. She reached into her pocket, grabbing her key. As she placed it in its lock, her arm was stopped by his hand pressed flat against the door by her head. She looked up at him, his face only inches from her own. She could smell the wine on his breath, and for a moment, she felt dizzy.

“You are still a Lady,” his voice rumbled through her. She wanted to lean her body against his chest. All it would take was just to sway slightly and she could press herself there. Instead she turned the key and pushed open the door.

“As the Lady of Winterfell, I’m inviting you in.”

He followed her inside. Although she doubted her maid would turn up that night, she barred the door behind him. He stood in the middle of the room, looking around at his surroundings. It was different than the last time he had been in her chambers. Then, he was covered in blood and ash, his armor glistening wet and only a single candle illuminating the room. A fire crackled at the hearth and several candles were lit. He donned no armor this time and instead stood before her in a black jerkin with black breeches and boots, mirroring her black dress. He turned to face her, catching her staring.

“What do you want to show me?”

Sansa walked towards her trunk which he happened to be standing right in front of. He didn’t move away as she kneeled next to his legs, finding the smaller key on her key ring to stick into the lock. She felt the heat of his eyes on the back of her head as she rummaged through. She always placed it at the very bottom, just in case.

Once she felt the soft silk against her fingertips, she took a deep breath, bracing herself. Inviting him into her chambers was minor in comparison. She was about to bare something deeply personal that could potentially blow up in her face. But she had come too far to back out now.

She pulled out the cloak, placing it atop her palms as she stood and presented it to him. He stared down at it, silent. Sansa realized maybe he didn’t recognize it.

“It’s your cloak. Your Kingsguard cloak,” she unfolded it, revealing the fine stitching at the seams.

“Y-you…. Still have this?” His voice shook. He raised his hand, grazing the top gently.

“I brought it with me when I escaped King’s Landing…. And then when I came here. I always kept it hidden so no one else would find it.”

Sandor returned his hand and took a step backwards. He rubbed his beard, never taking his eyes off the cloak. “Why?”

Sansa squeezed the cloak between her fingers, drawing strength from it as she had many times before, “Because it was yours.”

He jolted his eyes up at hers, questions twinkling in the fire light.

“I thought of you often after you left. I prayed for you too, before I realized that prayers are never answered.” She took a step towards him, the cloak still clutched in her hands. “In my worst moments, once I was alone, I would wrap it around me, as you did that day in the throne room.”

They were close again. Her knuckles clutching the cloak grazed against the buckles of his jerkin. She watched his chest rise and fall, wondering if his breathing was more labored than before. Her heart pounded in her ears, and her eyes pricked with tears. _Please, say something._

Sandor swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he looked down at the cloak again. “Your sister left me for dead on the Trident.” As he paused, Sansa kept her eyes on his face, watching as he remembered. “As I died, the last thought I had was that I failed you.”

A tear escaped her eye, followed by another, and then another. She blinked them away, her heart swelling inside of her. She wanted to throw her arms around him but instead she placed the cloak back down on the trunk. Her hands shook violently at her next impulse. _This is too much._ A voice inside of her said. But Sansa continued anyways. They were both baring so much to each other, and she wanted him to see her.

“I have something else to show you,” she announced. She reached behind her back, finding the tie of her dress.

His eyes widened and he blinked several times once he saw what she was doing. “What….”

“I want you to see,” She cut him off quickly, as her dress unwrapped loosely away from her. “No one else has seen.”

He grabbed the back of the armchair standing next to him as the dress fell to the floor. She wore her winter shift, which was long and covered her arms and her legs down to her knees. She turned her back to him, reaching behind her neck and untying the strings.

She heard the sharp intake of his breath as the folds of the shift fell over her shoulders. She knew it was a hideous sight. Her back was covered in various scars left my Ramsey’s torture. The worst were the letters “BOLTON” carved crudely across. Ramsey told her that no matter what happened, anyone who saw her would know who she belonged to. She hadn’t told Jon or Arya about her scars. Theon knew in theory given that he also had Ramsey’s marks, but no one alive had seen them. She always made sure her shift was secure around her shoulders when her maids helped her dress.

“He never marked me anywhere visible. His father would have punished him if he did,” Sansa began speaking. She didn’t think before the words tumbled out. “But he wanted to mark me. To make sure no one would desire me ever again.”

“He didn’t succeed,” Sandor rasped out.

Sansa turned and looked at him. The anger in his face was severe, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. She reached up to his face, cupping his burned side in her palm and she brought his gaze to hers. She saw the pain in his eyes, pain for her. Anger for her.  But no pity. He instead stared right back at her and didn’t turn away.

Sansa stood on her tip toes and pressed her lips to his. His lips were cool and smooth. She brought her other hand to cup his unburned side, his beard thick and soft in her palm. His hands gently touched the small of her waist, barely holding her to him. When she pulled away slightly to kiss him again, he gripped her sides and pushed her slightly away. Sansa fell back on her heels but kept her hands on his cheeks.

“Why me?” he demanded with a gasp. She could hear the disbelief and doubt in his voice. In that moment, Sansa realized just like her, it was unlikely he’d ever had someone treat him like this. If only he could really see inside her head, he would know. How could she make him see what he couldn’t see about himself?

“You won’t hurt me,” she said, echoing a time long before.

He gazed at her a moment and then she saw it. The recognition. Beneath her forearms, his chest puffed slowly as he inhaled. “No Little Bird,” the vibrations of his voice rattled her bones. “I won’t hurt you.”

When she pressed her lips against his again, she felt the tension melt off of him. He pressed her against him, and his lips opened slightly. Sansa wasn’t exactly sure how passionate kissing was supposed to go, and Sandor seemed as unsure as her. Littlefinger had also tried kissing her, but she made sure to be as stiff as possible. She had seen her parents kiss before when they didn’t realize she could see them, and she decided to mimic her memory. She ran her hand up Sandor’s face and into his hair and she turned her face to the side, capturing his bottom lip.

They continued like that for a while, taking turns kissing each other’s lips and experimenting with ways to hold their heads side to side. Sandor’s beard whiskers brushed roughly against her face, but Sansa found that she liked the feeling. When Sansa opened her mouth wider, darting her tongue to touch him. Sandor groaned against her and pulled her off her feet. The shift dangling off her shoulders threatened to fall further down, and Sansa remembered how little she was dressed. She wrapped her arms completely around his neck and brought her knees up to wrap around him as well. He moved his hands down to catch her thighs, bracing her against his body. Sansa pressed her forehead against his as he walked them backwards to her bed, sitting down once the back of his legs hit the mattress. Sansa found herself straddling his lap, her lips hovering over his once more.

A jolt of fear prickled up her scalp and she hesitated a moment. Could she do this? The voice telling her no was drowned out by another voice screaming at her to not let Ramsey have control over her. She grounded herself back in the moment, running her hands over the thick corded muscles of Sandor’s shoulders and feeling the powerful size of his thighs beneath her. He was everything Ramsey wasn’t, and she needed to focus on the here and now. Just days before she could have been dead. It was time she started to live again.

She pressed herself down in his lap, joining her mouth to his. This time, when she opened her mouth, he met her tongue with his. Sansa felt the jolt of electricity in the center of her body, culminating at her core. His fingers were tangled in her hair now, gently removing the pins that held her braids in place. When he had worked her hair loose, Sansa pushed against his shoulders indicating that she wanted him to lay down further on the bed. He held her close as he reclined back and as his head hit the pillow, Sansa kissed him deeply, pressing her tongue further into his mouth. He squeezed her thighs at that and took her bottom lip between his teeth. The shift now pooled down around Sansa’s arms and her breasts threatened to spill out. Making a choice, Sansa sat upright, astride his lap, letting the garment fall and pool down by her waist.

Sandor stared up at her, his mouth hanging slightly open. Sansa fought the urge to cover herself, watching him look at her. He surprised her by sitting up quickly, tilting her head and neck to the side and pressing open mouth kisses along the side of her throat. Sansa groaned, his light nibbles tickling her neck. Her nipples tingled and she felt them hardened as they brushed against his jerkin. She realized how unequal their clothing was and reached to undo the buckles. Sandor continued kissing her neck, down to her shoulder. Once the last buckle was undone on his jerkin, she pushed away to reveal a thin shirt beneath. He sunk his teeth into the muscle of her shoulder, and she squealed at the sensation, her hips bucking uncontrollably. He released her momentarily to slide his hands behind his neck and pull his shirt off of his body.

Sansa knew she was gawking, but she had never seen a body like his before. His chest and arms were huge, rippling muscles covered in dark hair. His skin was peppered with scars from the many battles he had been in, with some fresh bruises from the Long Night. His chest tapered down to a smaller waist; his abdomen taut. The hair was thicker just above the line of his breeches. It was then that she noticed the straining erection against his breeches, jutting out to the side towards his hips. In a flash, he was kissing her again, pulling her to him, her breasts flush against his naked chest. His lips moved against hers with a new ferocity.

He had pulled her further into his lap, pressing her against his stomach. The pressure felt delicious against her mound, and she pushed herself against him again. With one hand gripped in her hair, the other hand snaked up her body, grazing the side of her breast. Sansa nodded her head, sliding her tongue against his. She sighed into his kiss as his hand fully cupped her breast, his fingers trailing across her nipple lightly. Sansa pressed herself against him more, the pleasure building in tandem at both sensations. He moved his lips across her jaw, taking her earlobe in his mouth as his thumb continued to dance across her nipple. Sansa gasped out loud, biting her lip as he made his way down her neck and to her chest. Instinctively, she leaned back, giving him access and his lips trailed down her sternum. His breath was hot against her skin and her skin prickled as his beard rubbed between her breasts. He turned his head towards the other breast, his thumb still working away, and his tongue darted out and tasted her other nipple. A whimpered escaped her mouth, encouraging him further. He sucked the pink tip between his lips and lightly sucked it. His body was leaning over hers, and she pressed her hips further against his hard stomach, trying to find some release from the pressure building inside of her. She cried out when his mouth let go, and then sighed again as he switched sides, sucking the other nipple into this mouth. Sansa felt exhilarated and frustrated all at once. This was so out of her element and she felt helpless against him. But she never wanted it to end.

When it did end, Sandor had lifted her up again, this time placing her down against the bed and standing up beside her. She stared at him, confused, until he pulled her shift down further and off of her legs. All she had on now were her small clothes. He stared down at her, his eyes warming as they took her in. Sansa smiled up at him, liking for once to be seen. She drifted off, staring at his body once more, that she almost didn’t hear him say, “Can I take these off?”

Sansa nodded, registering that she had never really had to make these kinds of choices before. Her nerves started up again, knowing that this was one more barrier until the ultimate act. She was comforted at how slow Sandor removed her small clothes, his fingers gentle as he removed the delicate fabric away from her legs. In her fantasies, he hadn’t been gentle. She wasn’t sure how to imagine him this way. But here he was, touching her with soft grazes and slow movements. Maybe he knew that this wouldn’t be the easiest for her and he didn’t want to scare her. The thought soothed her nerves. She wanted to show him that it was okay. She was okay. Feeling emboldened Sansa sat up, placing her hands against his abs. He froze beneath her touch and she placed a kiss just above her hands. She felt him shiver and she looked up at his eyes.

“Can I take this off?” She asked, lowering her fingertips to trace the waist band of his breeches.

 He inhaled deeply through his nose and nodded at her. She began to slowly undo the laces, which were tight from the straining beneath. As she undid them, her fingers grazed against his hard member and she heard him suck in a hiss. Once the laces were loose, she pulled the side of his breeches down his hips and his penis sprang out of confinement, slapping against his abs. He pulled away from her slightly, leaning down to finish removing the pants off his legs and kicking them along with his boots away from his feet. As he stood up straight again, he looked down at her and she stared as he grabbed his erection, squeezing it slightly. Mesmerized, she slid over, allowing him room to join her again, this time laying down next to her. Their heads were pointed towards the foot of the bed, and Sandor pulled her down to lay her on her back next to him.

Leaning over her, he grazed his forehead against hers, taking her body in as he gazed down at her.

He wrapped his fingers through her hair again at the base of her neck. She heard a growl begin deep in his throat as he said, “You’re beautiful.”

His tone was both appreciative and possessive, and it sent shivers down her spine. Sansa rubbed her nose against him, grazing their lips together as she responded, “So are you.”

He pressed his mouth against her in a bruising kiss. Sansa rubbed her hands up his chest, her fingers tangling through his chest hair. He gave her a kiss that felt like he was devouring her, his tongue dominating hers. Sansa gave back as good as she was given, pushing her own mouth against his, sucking in his bottom lip and nipping it between her teeth. His hands were on her again, pinching her nipples and squeezing her breasts but then they traveled lower, squeezing her hips and bringing one hand between them. He rested his body to the side of hers, his fingers tracing the thick hair of her mound before he slid one down her slit. “Fuck,” he whispered. Sansa gently spread her legs and felt a jolt of pleasure as he slid his finger against her nub. She must have vocalized because he did it again, repeating the movement until he zeroed in on the source of her pleasure. Sansa laid back completely, unsure of how to touch him when he did this to her. He rubbed her with more friction, and she lifted her hips slightly to match pace with his fingers. The building returned, more intense than ever before. She didn’t realize she was panting until his hot mouth sucked in a pink nipple again and she cried out. His fingers were moving faster, and the building pressure was taking over her. She looked down, seeing his mouth against her and his hand between her legs and the pressure exploded, the most delicious waves of pleasure washing over her. She clamped her legs tightly around his hand, and he was kissing her again, silencing her screams.

Her head was buzzing, and she wrapped her arms tightly around him, burying her face against his shoulder.

“What was that?” she asked. Her mother had told her once that lying with a man could be pleasurable for a woman, but she never went into details. She felt laughter in his chest as he said in her ear, “That is how it is supposed to be.”

She let out a giggle of her own. She pressed against him further, peppering his neck with kisses as he had done to her earlier. It was then that she was poked in the thigh, and she remembered suddenly that he hadn’t climaxed.

“I want to make you feel that good,” she whispered against his throat. She reached down between them, her hand wrapping around his shaft. He groaned against the crown of her head, as she experimented with light squeezes and sliding her hand up and down.

“Careful, Little Bird,” he grunted out. “I won’t last long if you keep doing that.”

She thought about it carefully. She wanted him to come undone for her like she had for him. But she also knew what he wanted. He wanted to push inside of her, just like any man. She wasn’t sure yet though if she was entirely ready for that. She considered letting go and letting him do what he wanted, but she remembered his consideration up until this point.

“How about I just do this for now,” she squeezed his shaft again. “We can save the rest for later.”

He breathed in deeply as she moved her hand up and down. He was smooth, hard and sturdy but the loose skin that moved with her hand also made him soft all at once. He was large too, much larger. As her hand grazed his head, she felt a hot wetness coat her hand, and her movements became easier. He slid in and out of her hand and she noticed his hips moving along with hers. His hands gripped around her, and she felt him twitch twice before he stilled, groaning loudly and warm fluid shooting out and covering both their bellies.

He tossed his head back against the mattress, laying flat against his back. Sansa nestled into his side, placing her head on his chest and listening to his breathing calm.

They didn’t speak for several minutes. Sansa closed her eyes, soaking in his warmth. After some time, she noticed his fingers grazing through her hair fanned behind her. She looked up and saw him staring down at her, his expression relaxed. She wasn’t used to seeing him this way. Usually he always wore a scowl, and it dawned on her that that applied to her as well. She considered just a few hours prior feeling resentful and hopeless in a sea of happy people coupling off. She didn’t think this kind of moment was ever going to be for her, and yet here she was, wrapped around Sandor Clegane in bed. She thought back to their first words to each other that night.

“When you said only one thing would make you happy, what did you mean?”

Sandor shook his head, a smile creeping across his face as he slung an arm over his eyes. “I think you know.”

Sansa grinned. She laid her head down flat against his chest again and started to trace circles across his abdomen.

A fear began to nag her, as she considered what was to come later. “I know she will march south as soon as possible.” He didn’t say anything, so she continued. “Will you stay, when she does?”

There was a long silence. She couldn’t bear to look at him, realizing that he very well could say no. She continued tracing patterns against his skin.

Finally, he spoke, “If you want me to stay, I’ll stay. And when you tell me to go, I’ll go.”

“I want you to stay,” she said. “Promise me, you’ll stay.”

His arm wrapped around her brought her in closer as he turned on his side to face her. His other arm wrapped around her as well, embracing her into his chest.

“I’ll stay.”

**Author's Note:**

> What can I say? Fluff and smut go together like PB&J. I may post more to this. As of right now it's a one-shot but I left it so that more could be added. Although I take a lot of issues with their scene together, I wanted to contextualize their words in a way that made sense for both of them.


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